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RHYME/ 

CHILb'/wORLb 

A Bo ok °f\Jz r/e A Ch i I d ren 



By 

MIRIAM CLARK POTTER 

V/ilh revliorv 
Ruth Fuller./teverv 

Boston 

THE F OUR yE A/ COMPANY 


Copyright, 1920, by 

THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY 



NOV 20 1920 


The Four Seas Press 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 


©CI.A604443 

AvO 


TO MY MOTHER AND FATHER 
WHO ALWAYS HAD TIME 
TO WAIVE GROWN-UP MATTERS 
AND READ A SMALL RHYME: 

WHOSE HEARTS EVER HELD 

THROUGH THE FLIGHT OF THE YEARS 
A SOFT UNDERSTANDING 


OF SMALL JOYS AND TEARS. 


We wish to acknowledge with thanks the permission of 
“The Youth’s Companion,” “St. Nicholas,” “Little Folks,” 
and Congregational Publishing Society for such of these 
rhymes as have appeared in their publications. 


CONTENTS 


IN THE HOUSE 

Page 

My Dearest is a Lady 13 

Bubbles 14 

The Grown-up World 16 

Tea Time 18 

Umbrellas 20 

The March Wind 21 

The Tiptoes 23 

Rain-on-th e-Roof 25 

Princess Fire . : 27 

The Dolls 28 

Bread and Butter 30 

The Company Man 31 

The New Slippers 32 

The Lighthouse Lamp 33 

Sister Martha 35 

A Plaint 36 

The Fat Little Cloud 37 

The Looking Glass 38 

Muffins 40 

Thanksgiving Kitchen Song 41 

Cracker Ships 43 

The Candle Tree 44 

The Little Rug From Persia 46 

Dutch Katrina 47 


7 


8 


CONTENTS 


OUTDOORS AT PLA Y 

Page 

The Children of the Wind 51 

The Solemn Frog 52 

Summer Weather 53 

A Warning 54 

The Moon in the Pool 55 

The Flying Hours 56 

The Common Things 57 

The Hen 60 

Blundering Benjamin Bumble Bi e ... 61 

The Two Little Flocks 62 

To the Little Girl Next Door 64 

The Ride to Town 65 

The Swans 67 

Roads 69 

The Cuddle-de-wees 71 

The Highest Hill in Happytown .... 72 

A Likeness 75 

Hay Cocks 76 

May 77 

The Windmill Country 78 

The Owl 79 

The Cloud in the Garden 80 

Runaway River 82 

The Jack o' Lantern 84 

The Mad March Hare 86 

The Water Child 88 


CONTENTS 


9 


TWILIGHT SONGS 

Page 

Twilight Town 91 

The Lucky Little Star 92 

The Flock of Dreams 94 

How Sleep Was Made 95 

The Two .Gowns 97 

The Twilight Man ........ 99 

The Dream Ship 100 

A Prayer at Evening 101 

The Willow Tree 102 

The Fairy's Name was Whisper .... 104 

Fire Flies 106 

The Lady Night 107 

The March of the Shadows 108 

The Star- Lighter 109 

A Ballad of Three m 

The Star Ships 113 

The Yellow City Lights 114 

The Pilot Wind 115 

Rocking Song 117 

The Laughter Mill 119 

Little Sister of the Moon 121 

The Sandman's Wife 123 

Dreams for Three 126 

Lady Mother 127 

The Road to Glad Tomorrow 128 


5 J^IS a world of wonderful things, 
Of wind and water and wings 
And the tiniest bird 
That ever was heard 
Of God and His goodness sings; 


So be glad, little child, and say 
“Mine is a wonderful way ; 

They all are for me, 

The flower and the tree, 

Love, and the light of day” 






u 




MY DEAREST IS A LADY 


My dearest is a lady, and she wears a gown of 
blue ; 

She sits beside the window, where the yellow sun 
conies through; 

The light is shining on her hair, and all the while 
she sews 

She sings a song about a knight — a brave, good 
knight she knows. 

My dearest is a lady, — and O, I love her well! 

Full five and twenty times a day this very tale 
I tell; 

For I’m the knight in armor — a shield and sword 
I wear; 

And mother is my lady, with the light upon her 
hair. 


BUBBLES 



Misty balls of rainbow stuff, 

Sailing in the sun, 

We have watched them as they grew, 
Slowly, one by one. 

Flowers they are that bud and blow, 
Shining spheres of light; 

Our eager hands would grasp them 
Before they burst from sight. 

Little brother, come and see! 

Here’s a pretty thing, 

Glowing like a fairy lamp, 

Floating like a wing. 

Magic colors gleam and go 
In a glad surprise; 

Can you reach the jewels there, 

Little Wonder-Eyes? 

14 



Little boy from ’cross-the-street, 
Very straight and proud, 

Blows the biggest one of all, 
Rosy as a cloud; 

Up it rises like a bird, 

Trembles in the air, 

Shines with all its soul for us, 
Then is gone nowhere. 


O 



o 


Sky has sent her sweetest blue, 

Dawn has sent her rose, 

River sends her laughter-lights, — 

Don’t you just suppose? 

Day has given clearness, — C 

Night has lent a star, — 

And only happy children 
Know what bubbles are. 


Little boy from ’cross-the-street, 0 

Little Let-Me-Too, 

Thinks they’re made of undreamed dreams, 
Glassed in morning dew; 

Just perhaps they’re made of that; 

We are glad they stay ^ 

For even little breathless whiles, ^ 

Before they melt away. (J 


15 



THE GROWN-UP WORLD 

O Grown-Up World, where I live and play, 

Shall I really belong in you, world, some day? 

The chairs are so tall, it is hard to climb up, 

So heavy to hold is a grown person’s cup, 

The door-knobs are high, very high, I must stand 
On the tips of my toes when I put up my hand. 


16 


The grown people sing as they pass in and out 

And things seem just right, as they journey about; 

They light the high lamps, and they read the big 
books 

And they smile down upon me, with far-away 
looks. 

But soon I’ll be older, and then I’ll be tall, 

And I’ll wind the old clock, where it stands in 
the hall; 

I’ll sit down in chairs like my great-aunt Marie 

And lift the big pot when it comes with the tea. 

Grown-Up World, where I live and play, 

Shall I really belong in you, world, some day? 



17 



TEA TIME 

The tea bell rings with a merry sound 
And tea is ready at last; 

Down from the hall, where we played at cars, 
We come on the Very-Fast. 

There are the muffins we hoped would be 
And the plates of honey and cheese. 

We may have milk in our little blue jugs 
As much as ever we please. 

Oh, we were hungry up in the hall, 

Hungry as children can be; 

Often we called from the stairs to ask: 

“When is it time for tea?” 


18 


The candles shine with a yellow light 
And our shadows are big on the wall; 
Out in the dark the wind rides past 
With a “Happy good-night!” to all. 



19 



UMBRELLAS 

People on a rainy day 
Look like mushrooms, strange to say, 
And their round umbrella tops 
Gleam among the falling drops; 

Little mushrooms grow in clumps, 
Round the feet of mossy stumps, 
Large ones wander up and down 
Through the streets of Rainy-town. 



20 



THE MARCH WIND 

The lion wind comes rushing in 
From jungle lands of sky, 

And all the lamps along the street 
He fairly blinds with snow and sleet 
And goes a-rushing by; 

The bold March wind, the cold March wind, 

Who makes the tree-tops fly. 

He stole a pillow from a line 
And rolled it, all the way, 

From Perkins Street to Market Square 
With giant paws at play; 

The queer March wind, the drear March wind, 
Who takes my breath away. 


21 



The other night, at dinner-time, 

When cook went to the door, 

To get the frozen pudding in 
’Twas spilled upon the floor! 

The gruff March wind, the rough March wind, 
Had played the trick, she swore. 

But just last night, when all was dark, 

I raised the window wide, 

To fasten in a flapping cord, 

That kept the curtain tied; 

The great March wind rushed through the room ; 
“I promise Spring!” he cried. 



22 



THE TIPTOES 

The tiny little Tiptoes, from the Land of Wonder- 
Where, 

Walk all around our houses, and we never know 
they’re there ; 

They climb the chairs and tables, and they hang 
upon the door, 

They wind the clock, and ride the cat, and slide 
upon the floor. 

They come to see the baby bathed, and stand, all 
in a row, 

Upon the edge of Little Tub, and lean to watch 
the show; 

They clap their hands at every splash; and then 
away they fly, 

To see what cook is making, and dance upon 
the pie. 


23 


At night, when lamps are lighted, they hurry all 
about 

(Like owls, they see much better when the moon 
and stars are out;) 

They gather round the fireplace, to hear the fam’ly 
talk, 

And walk upon the mantle; but you never hear 
them walk. 

The things they do are dangerous ; I’m sure you’re 
thinking that; 

They might be drowned in Bath-Tub, or eaten by 
the cat: 

But their little hands are careful, and their foot- 
steps soft as breath, 

And at a sudden rattle they are frightened half 
to death. 

(Now, did you ever hear, at dusk, with no one 
in the room, 

The wicker chair go snappy-snap, like bristles in 
a broom? 

Well, then you may be certain, so the Really- 
Trulies say, 

That a Tiptoe slipped and tumbled, and is running 
fast away.) 


24 



RAIN-ON-THE-ROOF 


Rain upon the roof in the garret; little fingers 
knocking on the pane; 

A fairy voice is calling in the splashing and 
the falling, 

“I am the rain — the rain!” 

Shadows, shadows, shadows, in the corner by 
the eaves; 

Wet against the windows lie the little faded leaves. 

Rain upon the roof in the garret; play we are a 
pirate crew at sea; 

Play the old oak chest, in the veil of cobwebs 
dressed, 

Is a leaking, creaking ship, the “Stinging Bee”; 

Play the broken cradle, where our pile of play- 
things lie, 

Is an island full of treasure, where we’ll anchor 
by and by. 


25 




Rain upon the roof in the garret; shadows, dust, 
and cobwebs all around; 

We know the game to play, on a dark and 
blowy day, 

And we launch the “Stinging Bee” without a 
sound; 

With a pilot at the spinning wheel, we’ll land, 
at the break of day, 

On lonely Cradle Island, and steal all the things 
away. 



26 


PRINCESS FIRE 


The gray fog folds the houses round, 

The rain falls from the sky, 

And in the house, all snug and warm, 

Are Princess Fire and I; 

She wears a gown of changing red 
And while she sings to me 
She dances gayly to and fro 
With laughing witchery. 

Oh, weary, weary, weary wheels, 

Slow turning in the street; 

Oh, lamps that bum so bravely there, 
Through all the mist and sleet; 

Oh, great bleak wind from northern lands 
That beats against the pane — 

To your cold realms I banish you; — 

To darkness and the rain. 

Upon the hearthstone here within 
The ruddy comfort gleams, 

And Princess Fire her province rules, 

The while her subject dreams; 

And here are warmth, and cheer, and light, 
And here no need to sigh; — 

A lover and his lady bright — 

Good Princess Fire and I. 



27 




THE DOLLS 

I take them up at morning, and I put them down 
at night, 

The large one, and the small one, and the rest; 

The one that came from London-town, the one 
from bright Japan, 

The pretty Paris lady with the fluffy feather fan, 

And the weary, dreary one I love the best ; 

I take them up with smiling, and I put them down 
with sighs, 

And I smooth their hair with loving and with pride, 

When I put them in the cradle, at the paling of 
the skies, 

I sing my very softest at their side. 


28 


0, a boy may have a fife and gun, a boy may have 
a drum, 

A boy may have a helmet with a plume; 

And a boy may go a-marching all around the 
house with shouts, 

And set the echoes ringing in a room; 

But dolls were made for girls, I guess, and here 
before the fire, 

I rock them, rock them, rock them to their rest; 

The one that came from London-town, the one 
from bright Japan, 

The pretty Paris lady with the fluffy feather fan, 

The nodding one that shuts its eyes as sleepy 
babies can, 

And the weary, dreary one I love the best. 



29 



BREAD AND BUTTER 

I come in hungry from my play, 

And ask for things to eat; 

And think of all the cake we’ve got, 
So plummy and so sweet; 

But very gently, mother says, 
“There’s butter, and there’s bread;” 
And smiles at me; my hunger leaves, 
I sigh, and shake my head; 

For I had only wished for cake, 

So plummy, and so sweet; 

And I go back to play again 
Without a thing to eat. 


30 



THE COMPANY MAN 

Sometimes the company man is wide, 

And sometimes he’s high and thin, 

But always he smiles, in the parlor there, 

When brother and I come in; 

He looks down at us in a grown-up way, 

With — “How are you children, my dears, today?” 

Then out to the table we go like a march, 

With mother-our-dear in the lead; 

And the company man sits down with smiles 
And eats very much indeed; 

We try to be quiet, as good as we can, 

And we stare all the time at the company man. 


31 



THE NEW SLIPPERS 

Sister Alice has some slippers that are really very 
new, 

She’s had them from the shoe-shop for just a 
day or two; 

They are very, very shiny, of a leather smooth 
and sleek, 

With ribbon bows to tie them; — but goodness, 

- how they squeak! 

And early in the morning they come squeaking 
down the stairs, 

They squeak across the polished floor to come 
to fam’ly prayers; 

Then out along the garden walk, where morning 
winds are cool, 

And when ’tis time for lessons, they go squeaking 
off to school. 

But when the shine is worn away, and when the 
soles are through, 

And when the little slippers are old instead of 
new, 

The squeak will go away from them, and in the 
house and out, 

They’ll only make a thumping sound, as Alice 
walks about. 

32 


THE LIGHTHOUSE LAMP 


When at night I draw the curtain, and look out 
upon the sea, 

I watch the yellow lighthouse lamp, flash out 
“One, two and three”; 

Calling, “Here are reefs to wreck you!” and 
“Good sailorman, take care! 

An island here with rocky shores, beware, sea- 
folk, beware! 

’Tis I, the lonely lighthouse lamp, that calls you 
on the deep. 

I glow when fog is thick and cold, when day- 
light is asleep. 

Watch close! Ride sure! Take heart again! 
Keep safely out to sea! 

I send my warning out to you, my friendly 
warning out to you, 

I flash, ‘One, two and three!’ ” 


When morning comes to wake me, and I look 
across the bay, 

The lighthouse lamp is fast asleep, all in the 
light of day. 

The tall, white tower is holding it. It keeps it 
safely high. 

The gray gulls circle round it, and “We bring 
you dreams!” they cry. 

“Dreams of the high, white stars at night, dreams 
of the rocking sea, 

Dreams of the ships that listen when you call, 
‘One, two and three!’ 

And more than all of these again, are dreams to 
fill your sleep, 

Of the homes of sailormen, the waiting homes 
of sailormen, 

Whose happiness you keep.” 



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SISTER MARTHA 

Sister Martha said to me: “Tie your hair with 
bows, 

Oh, the way it flies about, when the least wind 
blows !” 

Sister Martha fluttered by, in her primrose gown, 

She’s the very neatest girl, people say, in town. 

Green and gold the garden lay, set with summer 
flowers, 

Sweetly pink and white they grew, fresh from 
morning showers; 

Martha took her sewing there; underneath the 
tree 

Quiet in the shade she sat, sewing daintily. 

Just perhaps when I am old, old as Martha looks, 

I will sew on lacy clothes, read love-story books ; 

Now, behind the goblin bush, where I cannot 
show, 

I ruffle up my windy hair, and pity Martha so ! 


35 




A PLAINT 

When I have grown a yard or so 
I’ll be a pirate, that I know, 

And capture on the stormy sea 
Ships full of coffee and of tea. 

For it is quite a shame, I think, 

When such good things are had to drink 
That only grown folks get a cup; 

How glad I’ll be when I grow up! 



36 



THE FAT LITTLE CLOUD 


Little Eldora made some bread, 
And set it to rise in a pan; 
After a while it began to grow, 
As only good bread-dough can. 


Then little Eldora went to town 
And stayed there most of the day; 
While she was gone the bread got up — 
Out of the pan and away. 

When she got back it was floating up 
Out of the door, and high 
It rose and rose, till at last it made 
A fat little cloud in the sky. 




37 



THE LOOKING GLASS 


Far behind the looking glass 
I should like to go and pass, 
Looking near and far; 

Magic things it shows to me, 
Things as like as like can be, 
To the things that are. 

Hanging in the quiet hall 
True it shows upon the wall 
Window, clock and stair; 

Sometimes roses in a vase, 
Sometimes mother in her lace, 
All in picture there. 


38 



Once, before the lights were lit, 

Soft the smooth glass mirrored it, — 
Evening’s rosy moon; 

Slow it slipped from past a tree, 
Shone a little while for me, 

Then was gone so soon. 



39 



MUFFINS 

Molly tied her apron on, 

Blue and white, it was ; 

“I’ll be making muffins,” 

Molly said, “because 
There’s no more o’ currants 
For the little buns”; 

“Make us muffins,” ’Lizbeth cries, 
“Fluffy yellow ones!” 

Sniffing in the baking smell 
Brother said to me: 

“Think of all the children 
Muffinless, for tea! 

Esquimos with bear and oil 
China boys with rice — 

I am glad I live at home; 

Muffins are so nice!” 



40 


THANKSGIVING KITCHEN SONG 


Warm Thanksgiving fires are burning, over all 
the land 

Frosty winds are blowing down the streets ; 

Hungry little children by the kitchen tables stand 

To look upon the good Thanksgiving sweets. 

Molly with cap and apron, open wide the door; 

Let us in the kitchen for the fun! 

There’s a pudding stuffed with raisins, and the 
turkey fills the pan, 

The pumpkin pie is yellow as the sun. 

Upon the silver treasure plate we pile the purple 
fruit 

And Molly swings the heavy oven door; 

The air is sweet with spicy things, the kettle hums 
a tune, 

The yellow sun is shining on the floor. 



Just out across the river, through the lines of 
crinkled corn, 

A gusty little wind, all up and down, 

Plays tag among the melon vines, and then flies 
off at last, 

To tease the smoking chimneys of the town. 

Warm Thanksgiving fires are burning, over all 
the land, 

In the kitchens of the houses there is cheer; 

And we are very cosy as we watch the little clock ; 
The hour of merry dinner-time is near. 



jft O 


42 



CRACKER SHIPS 

Ships a-sailing in my soup ; 

See them dip and flutter! 

Little cracker ships are they 
With a sail of butter; 

Nurse has come; I eat them up 
As fast as I am able ; 

She has said ’tis not polite 
To fuss with things at table. 



43 


THE CANDLE TREE 


O hush, little brother, step soft on the stair 
This Christmas morning; for waiting there 
Is the candle-tree, with its flowers of light 
All shining and blossoming bright, so bright: 
Isn’t it good to bloom for us so 
When all other trees are asleep in the snow? 

Only on Christmas day it comes 
While the white snow flies and the north /wind 
hums; 

When the spirit of giving is in the air 
Then we are sure to find it there. 

O hush, little brother, step soft and light 
Lest it fade like a dream-thing away from sight! 



44 




For under its branches are sheltered here 
The things we’ve wanted through all the year; 
The doll I dreamed about months ago, 

The scarlet horn that you wanted so 
New books and pictures, all waiting, see, — 
Under the care of the candle-tree! 

And over its branches and all about 
Peace and contentment and joy shine out, 
Making the world a beautiful place 
Making me say, as I lift my face, 

“O wonderful, wonderful, candle-tree, 

The light of the Christ-child is over me!” 



45 


THE LITTLE RUG FROM PERSIA 



The little rug from Persia, that lies upon our floor, 
It gleams a wealth of colors with the sunlight 
from the door; 

A pretty gold, like candlelight 
A starry blue, like skies at night, 

A red like rubies, wild and bright, 

All these and many more. 

The little rug from Persia, that shines like flowers 
and wings, 

If it could only talk to us could tell of many 
things ; 

Of foreign lands, so far away 
Of magic night and burning day, 

Of dark-skinned children at their play 
Of elephants and kings. 



46 



DUTCH KATRINA 

Dutch Katrina is so good! 

In the kitchen’s brightness 
Makes us sugar things to eat, 
Cakes of fairy lightness; 

Keeps us laughing all the while 
With a song or fable ; 

Tells us of the Tulip Land 
As she lays the table. 

Now the work is done tonight 
And the fire is dying 
When we come to look for you, 
’Trina, you are crying! 

Crying for the Tulip Land, 
Shadows deep behind you; 
’Trina, light the lamp and sing; 
See, we came to find you! 



47 








































► 















THE CHILDREN OF THE WIND 

My little dresses are alive — 

See, out upon the line, 

How full and free they’re blowing there, 
Those crumpled gowns of mine! 

I never thought ’twould happen, when 
Nurse put them out to air them; 

The little children of the wind 
Have crept inside, to wear them! 

And now they’re swaying to and fro — 
With lifted arms they’re clinging 
Fast holding to the friendly rope 
And swinging, swinging, swinging! 

The pink gown and the blue gown, too, 
The white one trimmed with laces, 

O, little children of the wind, 

Why can’t I see your faces? 

51 



THE SOLEMN PROG 

I think he’s judge of all the rest, 

My friend, the solemn frog; 

He’s judge of all the water things, 

The skimming bugs with dripping wings, 
The turtle on the log; 

He sits upon a lily pad 
And if he ever sees them bad 
With sternness he will say: 

“Go hide among the darkest weeds 
Down deep, among the dungeon reeds, 
And there repent your wicked deeds, 
Away, young thing, away!” 



52 




SUMMER WEATHER 

Sing of summer weather 
Wind and sky together, 

Clover-top and berry-bloom, 

And haycocks in the sun; 

All the forest places 

Spread with shaded laces, 

Oh, I breathe a sorry sigh 
When summer time is done! 

Fleets of clouds are floating 
On the sky a-boating; 

Meadow birds are flying past, 
With wings of red and blue. 

All my heart keeps saying, 

As I go a-playing: 

“Summer-time, ’tis summer-time, 
The world is all for you!” 


53 




A WARNING 

We drop our stones upon the lake 
And watch them how they sink, 

The circles little ripples make 
All faster than a wink; 

You fishes, swimming down below, 
Where coolest peace prevails, 

Look out, unless these stones we throw, 
Drop down upon your tails! 


54 



THE MOON IN THE POOL 

The moon is drowned in the little brown pool 
Where the water is ever so deep. 

I must help her out of the shadowy cool 
Before I can go to sleep; 

I must help her out with my friendly hands, 

(If I saw her, how could I pass?) 

Where the drooping tree on the hillside stands 
I will put her to rest on the grass. 

The stars must be weeping, and hiding their eyes, 
And wondering where she can be ; 

And sending the clouds to hunt over the skies, 

I am glad that she fell to me! 

For now I may help her, and smooth her hair; 
On the grass she shall rest, and then 
When the little night wind finds her sleeping there 
He will carry her home again. 


55 



Twelve little birds fly by in a row — 

Bright little birds are they — 

Shining and free, and as blue as can be, 

And these are the hours of the day; 

The sun shines warmly across their wings 
As they hurry their way along; 

And now and again, in their joy of things, 
They carol a daytime song. 

Twelve little owls fly by in a row, 

Silent and dark their flight; 

Gray little things, with shadowy wings, 

And these are the hours of the night; 

But the last of them all, as he hovers low, 
Is flushed with a radiant pink; 

This is the good little sunrise owl; 

I like him the best, I think. 






THE COMMON THINGS 

The things that happen every day 

Are common things, so the grown folks say, 

But I am a child, and I can see 
Most wonderful happenings, all for me; 

The flower can grow, and the bird can sing, 

But each of these is a wonderful thing! 

Away to the south, where the air rests sweet 
On meadows of clover and fields of wheat, 

Lives the Prince of the Wind, in a castle hewn 
From a gray rock-hill that touches the moon; 
And now and again, when the sky is bright 
And the clouds of summer are floating white 
The gates of the castle are opened wide 
And the Prince of the Wind comes out to ride; 
’Tis something just a child can see 
And not for grown-ups, but for me. 



57 


In the meadow lands, where the lilies grow 
Where the reapers sing and the cattle low 
The river dreams as it moves to sea 
And the heaven above smiles tenderly; 

Over its waters she gently bends 
And her glad, bright smile to its depths she sends 
So magic sweet, that through and through 
The river warms to a richer blue; 

’Tis something just a child can see 
And not for grown-ups, but for me. 

The sun is a fire, so the grown-folks say 
And warms the earth in a learned way; 

But the sun is a great round crown, I know, 

Of a giant who lost it years ago. 

He was King of the Clouds, till one black day 
The wind, in an anger, swept him away, 

And his golden crown, like a living thing 
Keeps moving about to find its king. 

’Tis something just a child can see 
And not for grown-ups, but for me. 



58 


When the night has come, and the lights are out, 
And the shuddering shadows creep about 
The moon shines in through the curtain lace 
With her gentle eyes, and her quiet face, 

And says with a smile that calms me, quite, 

“I am God’s bright angel over the night, 

So go to sleep; don’t be afraid; 

For a child’s sweet comfort was I made” ; 

’Tis something just a child can see 
And not for grown-ups, but for me. 

I’m glad I’m a child, for it seems too bad 
To miss so much that would make you glad. 



59 




THE HEN 

The hen is such a funny fowl 

For all she has to do 

Is walk around all day, and eat, 

And cock her eye at you ; 

And always, when she’s being fed 
She quickly singles out 
The choicest bit, and seizing it 
She rushes all about 

And eats it far from other hens 
With quite a show of greed; 

Then cocks her eye and walks about — 
Oh, what a life to lead ! 



60 


BLUNDERING BENJAMIN BUMBLE BEE 


Over a meadow of flowers came he, 

Blundering Benjamin Bumble Bee, 

And he buzzed with his wings, and grumbled low 
That the dew on the flowers annoyed him so. 

“My feet are wet and I’ve caught a cold, 

I’ve ruined completely my suit of gold. 

The use of dewdrops I cannot see,” 

Growled blundering Benjamin Bumble Bee. 



THE TWO LITTLE FLOCKS 

Five little sheep on a hillside grazed 
Where the raggedest daisies grew, 

And just overhead, in a sunny space 
Were five little clouds in the blue; 

And the five little clouds in the sky looked down 
On the five little sheep below 
And they called out to them in a friendly way 
“O little white flock, hello!” 

“We look alike — we must be alike; 

Now isn’t that plain to you? 

Come up with us in the pasture sky 
O little white flock, — please do!” 


62 


But the five little -sheep on the hill looked sad 
And nibbled the grass instead; 

And each one smothered a sorrowful sigh 
Shaking his wise little head; 

And they called to the flock in the sky, “O no; 
Such union would never do; 

We must be fed on the greenest grass 
While your meadow grass is blue;” 

“And how would we look when trying to fly 
With hard little feet for wings? 

Sheep of the earth and sheep of the sky 
Were made for different things.” 

And the little white flock in the sky looked down 
On the little white flock below 
And they said to themselves — “How queer; when 
we 

Resemble each other so!” 



63 






TO THE LITTLE GIRL NEXT DOOR 

Over miles of ocean blue 
Straight my ship sails home to you, 
For I know you’re sure to wait 
In the orchard, by the gate. 

When I go to fight the bear 
In the woodpile, growling there, 

Kind and bravely near you sit 
Begging me beware of it. 

Once, when in the reeds we hid 
Just the way the pirates did, 

With your head upon my arm 
Safe I guarded you from harm. 

Oh, how much a man can dare 
When he has a lady fair! 

For your soldier I was made 
All the times you are afraid. 


64 










% 

























'0 

^ o'o Ho o' 

o ‘f ®* ®° 

o »;o o »;@.;o .woo ' 1 


A RIDE TO TOWN 


Oh, the road that leads to town 
On a summer morning! 

Yellow sunshine on the fields, 

Mist the hills adorning; 

Leaves soft blowing in the breeze 
Fresh from summer showers; 
Roadside, as we drive along, 
Crowded thick with flowers. 

Aunt Matilda flaps the reins; 
“Raisins, flour, and butter; 

We must not forget the yeast”; 
(How the corn leaves flutter;) 

“We must get a skein of yarn 
And some gingham patches”; 

(How the river, where it turns, 
Sky’s own color matches!) 


65 


“Here we are at Peter’s Mill; 

Yes, they’re busy grinding”; 

Through Green Meadow, just beyond, 
Bubble Brook is winding; 

Satin crows perch on the trees; 
Auntie counts her money; 

While she’s gone I sing my joy; — 
Bees are making honey! 


66 



THE SWANS 

On the tiny lake with the fairy bridge, where the 
rainbow fountains play, 

The grass slopes down to the water’s edge, in an 
easy, velvet way; 

And there the white bird-boats float by, in a long, 
parading line, 

And I am a princess on the shore, to play they 
are really mine. 

Some birds belong to the sky and hills, and some 
must stay in the tree, 

The wee browm partridge runs in the grass, — as 
wild as a bird can be ; 

They all belong to the free outdoors, the eagles, 
the owls, and the larks, 

But the tall white swans, with their stately necks, 
were made for the city parks. 


67 




As they sail along in their proudest way, with 
their feet a-dabble behind, 

Their stiff starched tails stand up in a row, the 
crispiest tails you’ll find; 

Now they are still, where the willows are, a-float 
on their spreading wings, 

And upside down they are pictured there, — the 
pretty white china things ! 


ROADS 




Many, many roads there are, warm and dusty 
brown, 

Some go running to the hills, some turn into town, 

Some lead far and far away, where nobody knows ; 

How I’d like to follow them, finding where each 
goes! 

Once I found a pretty road, leading up a hill, 

I thought each turn would be the last, and yet it 
wandered still; 

Close beside a shady pool, up across a stile, 

Then down beside a twist of stream, till I had 
gone a mile. 

It was a fine and pleasant road, and as I walked 
I thought: 

“It leads, perhaps, to stately lands which rich 
Sir John has bought:” 

But down it went across a bridge, all tumbled 
and forlorn, 

Then straight behind a farmer’s barn, where 
ducks were eating corn. 


69 


Many, many roads there are, warm and dusty 
brown ; 

Some go running to the hills, some turn into town ; 

Each and every one of them, I choose it as my 
friend, 

For strange delights are waiting me, if I could 
find the end. 


70 



THE CUDDLE-DE-WEES 


Our hen has a troop of cuddle-de-wees 
That follow her round, all day; 

And some are yellow, and some are black, 

And one is a spotless gray; 

And at evening time, when the sunset light 
Glows red between the trees 
Our hen selects a sheltered place 
And calls to her cuddle-de-wees; 

“Cuddle-de-wees, cuddle-de-wees, 

The dew’s on the meadow, the night’s on the 
breeze, 

And the herd bells ring; come under my wing 
And snuggle to sleep, while the crickets sing; 

To the world, a stupid old hen am I; 

To you I’m a refuge, warm and dry, 

And safe with a feathery peace: so rest, 

For young little fowl this place is the best.” 

And there in the shadow, beneath the trees, 
They run to her gladly, the cuddle-de-wees. 

71 



THE HIGHEST HILL IN HAPPY TOWN 

The highest hill in Happytown — I climbed it just 
today, 

A little wind went with me, like a comrade, all 
the way. 

I’d longed to journey to the place, and when the 
glad day came, 

I told myself that Happytown should be the 
village name. 

We chose the pleasant river road that leads along 
the fields, 

And what a wealth of clover-sweet the wind 
across it yields'! 

We drove through little Singing Woods, we passed 
another place, 

But all the time ’twas Happytown toward which 
I turned my face. 

“O horses, hurry on,” I sang, “and do not wait to 
drink, 

How glad you are to stop a while at shady 
River Brink!” 

And when we reached the little town, I flew with 
glad swift feet, 

To what I knew was waiting me at end of 
Sunlight Street. 

72 



The little road is brown and steep, and wriggles 
up the hill, 

And all the way the drooping trees stand shady, 
cool, and still ; 

I climbed and looked about me; and there before 
me lay 

The great wide world I’d heard about, all shin- 
ing in the day. 

Close down below was Happytown, its red roofs 
painted new, 

And all the little chimney-pots were filled with 
misty blue; 

The children’s voices rose to me; I watched the 
wagons go - 

Along the little crooked streets, in sunshine 
there below. 



73 



And out upon the valley, where the greenest 
meadows lay 

I saw the tiny reaper folk go piling up the 
hay; 

Then far, far out and wide I looked ; and wonder- 
ful to me, 

On distant shores I’d never seen, spread out 
the wide, blue sea. 

I saw it shining in the light, all misty blue and 
gray, 

The little so ft- winged wander boats were rest- 
ing on the bay; 

I stood and looked and wondered, and wished 
some day to go 

Far over there to hear its voice, and feel the 
salt wind blow. 

And have you heard of Happytown? And do you 
know its hill? 

Such wonders can it show you when the air 
is clear and still; 

The highest in the countryside, for when you 
stand and look 

The world is spread before you, like a wide and 
open book. 


74 



A LIKENESS 

Some kinds of flowers are wild and free 
And grow where’er they choose 
Across the meadow, down the hill 
Or underneath the trees. 

But other kinds are caught, poor things, 
As any garden shows, 

And made to stand in planted beds 
In straight and stupid rows; 

And likewise, little children, 

When morning brightest shines, 

Are caught and planted down at school 
In firm and even lines. 



75 



HAY COCKS 


A band of giants, strong and tall, 

With heavy feet and knotted hands 
Came marching, with enormous stride 
Across the meadow lands; 

They tore the branches from the trees 
They dashed the water from the brook 
And often, in an angry rage 
Their locks of heavy hair they shook. 

“Hold!” Mother Earth in anger cried, 
“Such mischief, sirs, I shall forbid!” 
And reaching up she drew them down 
And in her darkness they were hid 
Deep, dark, and close ; and now the eyes 
Of country dwellers, as they pass, 

See only tops of tousled heads 
Above the meadow grass. 


76 



The river sings through its twisted miles 
And the heaven above it smiles and smiles 
The pink blooms out on the apple trees 
The scent of the lilacs is on the breeze ; 

Oh, how has it happened? And what does it 
mean? 

Who brightened the sunlight? Who coaxed out 
the green? 

May was painting a bush by the garden wall 
And she said in a whisper: “I did it all; 

I flushed the trees to their rosy hue 
I hung the banner clouds out in the blue; 

I worked not a wonder in this,” said she, 

’Tis only the work that was willed to me.” 


77 



THE WINDMILL COUNTRY 

There is a country, so they say, 

Where windmills grow like trees; 

Where arms instead of branches, reach 
To meet the coming breeze; 

And all the little children there, 

With clumping wooden shoes, 

May seek their friendly shade to play 
As often as they choose. 

How strange ’twould be, when winter comes, 
And all the other trees 
Are shedding leaves of brown and red 
To gather as we please, 

To see the windmills drop their arms, 

And all across the land 
The little girls and boys come out 
To find them on the sand. 



78 



THE OWL 

Queer little bird of the shadowy dark 
Come out, little owl, come away! 

Sit on that tree 
And gossip with me 
Blink, in the light of day; 

All other birds are awake in the sun 
All other birds are glad; 

Queer little bird of the shadowy dark, 
Why are you always sad? 


79 



THE CLOUD IN THE GARDEN 


Oh, where can I find a little white cloud? 

Tell me, bee in the clover; 

Do they ever, you think, come down to drink, 
When the heat of the day is over? 

I’d tie one fast to the cherry tree 
With a twist of silver twine; 

A glad little child I’d surely be 
If a little white cloud were mine. 

And every morning I’d pull it down 
To brush a puff or a wing; 

I’d hold it fast in my arms awhile 
Smoothing the feathery thing; 

I’d feed it dew from a hollyhock 

And when it had drunk to please 

With a tug on its string it would be away 

Riding the gay little breeze. 


But Oh, if the clouds in the sky should cry 
“Come back, little brother again!” 

If their sad little tears should fall down to earth 
In sorrowing drops of rain; 

If the silver cloud mother should come, at night, 
In a fog gown, trailing low, 

To hunt for a child in our garden place — 

I think I should let it go! 



81 



RUNAWAY RIVER 

Boy, do you know where it runs to sea? 

Brown little girl, do you? 

Runaway river, laughing and free, 

Dappled and warm and blue? 

Follow the curve of the meadow there 
Over the hill, and then, 

Where the marsh lilies droop in the careless wind 
Look to the south again. 

There you will see it running away ; 

Ah, it is bold and free! 

Never a truant so brave has been 
Never so brave will be; 

Running away, with never a care 

If all of the blossoming trees 

Cry, “Wait, little river, stay here a while,” 

Reaching their arms to tease. 


82 



Bad little shadows, who long to roam 
Slip in its depths to hide 
Good little ones, who are happy at home, 
Sleep in the reeds at its side; 

Runaway river, laughing and free, 

Dappled and warm and blue 

Boy, do you know where it runs to sea? 

Brown little girl, do you?” 



83 



THE JACK O’LANTERN 

To the man who tends the garden little brother 
said today — 

“We want a yellow pumpkin, very round” ; 

And the wind among the corn-stalks, where we 
stood a-hand-in-hand 

Made a funny little rattling sort of sound; 

It was very bright and frosty, and the man said, 
“Come with me,— 

I will find you what you want, if you will wait” ; 

Then he took us through the corn-lines past the 
heavy apple trees; 

There were piles of yellow pumpkins by the gate. 

And he asked, “To make a pie with? or to roll 
upon the ground?” 

And he smiled when little brother shook his head ; 

Then, “I really won’t be guessing, but I think I 
know the kind — 

I was little once myself, you know,” he said; 

And we looked at him and twinkled, while he 
hunted all about, 

Till he got the very roundest of them all ; 

Then he made a wink at brother, and a funny 
face at me, 

And he set the pumpkin up upon the wall. 

84 




“ ’Tis the king of all the others!” cried the cheery 
garden-man ; 

“I’ll be scooping out the middle, if you say” ; 

And we told him “Yes” in whispers, for it was our 
secret plan, 

And we watched him while he cut the heart away ; 

Then he asked us — “And his eyes? Shall his nose 
be long and wise? 

Shall he have a ragged, jagged sort of smile?” 

And we told the garden-man, “Please, as quickly 
as you can; 

We can only wait a very little while.” 

Then he laid the knife beside him, as he said, 
“Here is the man; 

He’ll be looking very happy with a light”; 

And we rolled him in our jackets, as we thanked 
the garden-man, 

And we hurried home to wait until the night ; 

Then a little moon is shining; then we’ll hide 
behind the wall, 

And we’ll put the yellow candle in its place ; 

In the pretty lighted windows of the children that 
we know, 

While the fathers read the papers, and the 
mothers sit and sew, 

There will shine a merry Jack O’Lantern face. 



85 





THE MAD MARCH HARE 

They say that the little March hare is mad, as 
mad as a beast can be, 

And yet when I saw him, the other day, he 
seemed very calm to me ; 

For close by the fence in the pasture lot, where 
the grass grew brown and dry, 

He was nibbling a bit, in a gentle way, with a 
sad bright tear in his eye. 


86 


“I wish they would call me The Rabbit of Spring — 
The Rabbit of Peace,” he said, 

“I think it a shame to be known as mad, when 
I’m quite all right in my head. 

What rageful beast, to say the least, on a meal 
of weeds would dine? 

And how could I ever growl or lash, with a voice 
and a tail like mine?” 



87 


THE WATER CHILD 


There is a round pool at the edge of the woods 
And there I may look at the sky; 

The wind goes a-sailing, the clouds come to drink, 
The birds pass above it and by; 

I lean down and look, in the carefulest way, 

Past the tip of the straight little pine, 

For down in its coolness a water child lives 
With a face that is nearly like mine, 






TWILIGHT TOWN 

Down a drowsy, dewy hill 
Leads the road away 
To the walls of Twilight Town 
At the close of day; 

There the people wander slow 
Down the shadow street 
Fingers to their lips they lift 
When they chance to meet. 

All the houses, painted gray, 
Blink their sleepy eyes; 
Mothers, all along the way, 
Whisper lullabyes; 

Each bird-baby cuddles down 
In its purple nest; 

This is quiet Twilight Town; 
The watchword there is Rest. 


91 



THE LUCKY LITTLE STAR 

“I’m a lucky little star!” sang the brightest in 
the sky. 

“Of all the stars about me there is none so glad 
as I! 

For every night at twilight, at the end of every 
day, 

I can look right through a window, in a very 
pleasant way, 

And watch a little mother, with a pretty, drooping 
head, 

As she tucks a little earth-child up, and leaves 
him safe in bed.” 


92 


“And when she’s drawn the curtain back, and 
blown away the light, 

She leaves the little earth-child to slumber and 
the night; 

But never right to slumber, — our secret may it 
be, — 

For every night the little child looks out and 
smiles to me. 

No other star in heaven has so good a place as I ! 

I’m a lucky little star,” sang the brightest in 
the sky. 



93 



THE FLOCK OF DREAMS 

All through the pasture bars of sleep 
My flock of dreams come home to me, 

The glad ones, and the sad ones, and the ones 
that bring me rest; 

At twilight, when the day is done, 

My slumber fairy chooses one 
And brings it to me gently, by a road she knows 
the best. 

Tonight the grass is drooped with dew; 

I count the stars, and there are two 
And one, and three, and two again, above the 
cloudy trees; 

The mist-hung world a-weary seems, 

Dear slumber fairy, call my dreams, 

Let down the pasture bars of sleep, and bring one 
home to me. 


94 



HOW SLEEP WAS MADE 

A whisper, a shadow, a lullaby, 

A glint of gold from the evening sky, 

The wind that blows 
Where the poppy grows 
And the drowsy song that the river knows, 

A gay-winged fairy gathered up 
And locked away in a lily cup. 

When evening came, and the moon was bright, 
And the forest dreamed in a glory white, 

The fairy flew 

Where the lily grew, 

And opened it wide, as she’d planned to do; 

One moment she poised, on airy wing, 

And then in a rapture began to sing: 


95 


“0, wonderful sight in the lily cup! 

How glad I am that I gathered up 
A whisper, a shadow, a lullaby, 

A glint of gold from the evening sky, 

The wind that blows 
Where the poppy grows 
And the drowsy song that the river knows, 

For my prisoners, down in the whiteness deep, 
Have made, ah, wonder! the thing called Sleep.” 


96 



THE TWO GOWNS 

My mother has a pretty dress 
Of silk that’s rich and fine. 

She wears it when there’s company 
And when she’s out to dine; 

The collar has a velvet bow 
Below my mother’s face ; 

The skirt trails softly on the floor, 
The sleeves are trimmed with lace; 
It shines and shimmers in the light 
All changing, gold and green, 

I smile at her, and whisper low, 

“My mother is a queen!” 


97 


My mother has another dress 
Of cloth that’s soft and red. 

She wears it when the light is low, 

When I am going to bed; 

And after I have said my prayers 
And when I say good-night, 

I’m not afraid of hurting it — 

I hug up to it tight, 

And say, with arms ’round mother’s neck, 
“Oh, have you ever guessed 
That though your silken gown is fine 
I like this dress the best?” 




THE TWILIGHT MAN 

The yellow color fills the sky, 

The time is slipping fast; 

The hours of sun are all but gone ; 
Another day is passed. 

From drowsy lands of purpleness 
The winds come singing in ; 

The lilac bush holds shadows now 
Where banded bees have been. 

Come softly, little Twilight Man, 
And spread the blanket down, 
Tuck in the edges of the dark 
Around the weary town. 


99 



THE DREAM-SHIP 

A sweet little ship sailed up from the south 
With a cargo of baby dreams, 

Of dolls and kittens 

And warm little mittens 

And rose colored peppermint creams ; 

A wee wind wafted it on its way 
And it sailed along at the close of day, 

Down the sleepy streets, where the lights were lit 
To leave each child some wonderful bit. 

“O hush, little child, if you want a dream, 

You must close your eyes, — ah yes! 

For the dream-ship carries a gift for you 
More lovely than you can guess; 

Perhaps a moon that will shine all day 
Perhaps a gown of a color gay 
Or a queer little fish 
In a silver dish 

Sail away little boat, and away!” 



100 




A PRAYER AT EVENING 

Who made the rose so sweet and red, 
Who made the blue sky overhead, 
Who made the river and the sea — 

I thank Him now, on bended knee. 

And when tomorrow’s sun is up 
And shines upon the lily cup, 

May I awake again, to see 
Its loving brightness over me. 


101 



THE WILLOW TREE 

When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are 
all gray, 

There’s a place in father’s garden where I dearly 
love to stay; 

For I’m tired of all my lessons, and I’m weary of 
my play, 

When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are 
all gray. 

There’s a motherly old willow growing close 
against the wall, 

And I climb up in her branches, and I know I 
cannot fail, 

For she rocks me very softly, in her gentle, loving 
way, 

When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are 
all gray. 


102 



Softly to her leaves and branches come the 
breezes of the night 

And they sing me songs of slumber, in the dim 
and restful light; 

“Sleep and slumber, sleep and slumber, little 
child,” they seem to say, 

“For the day is nearly over, and the shadows are 
all gray.” 


103 



THE FAIRY’S NAME WAS WHISPER 

The fairy’s name was Whisper, and she flew 
around at night; 

She filled the lamps of evening, and she set the 
grasses right; 

She waked a lazy glow-worm, where the mossy 
wood-spring drips, 

And hushed the noisy froggies, with her finger on 
her lips. 

“It’s time to sleep! It’s time to sleep!” she told 
the forest birds; 

She soothed the hurried river, with a chant of 
magic words; 

And, finding Billy Beaver, who had planned to 
work at night, 

She sent him off to bed at once, by winking 
fire-fly light. 

The fairy’s name was Whisper; and this I know 
is true; 

And when she’d hung the mists out, there were 
other things to do ; 

104 




She caught her robes about her, and she flew from 
door to door, 

To set the babies sleeping, in a hundred homes 
or more. 

And here’s a little baby, who would like to stay 
awake, 

For happy lights are riding, in the boats upon 
the lake; 

And here a baby cuddles, — and here a baby 
cries, — 

And Whisper finds the newest one, and shuts her 
tiny eyes. 

And do the mothers see her? 0 never; not at 
all; 

The kitten doesn’t see her, nor the clock upon 
the wall; 

But all the nodding babies, who lie, or walk, or 
creep ; 

Know, “Whisper’s come to see us;” and then — 
they’re — off — to — sleep. 



105 



FIRE-FLIES 

Over the meadow they’re flying low, 

Bright little runaway stars, 

And I sit by the window and watch them glow 
Over the pasture bars; 

They’re almost afraid to burn very bright 
For fear they’ll be hurried back tonight; 

So they shine out a minute, — then hide their light, 
Wise little runaway stars! 

Far up above them the other stars 
(Poor little patient things!) 

Sit in the sky and study the clouds 
Folding their sad little wings; 

With the stern moon to watch them they sit and 
sigh: 

“Won’t lessons be over, by and by? 

We want to go down to the earth and fly!” 
Runaway, runaway stars! 



106 





THE LADY NIGHT 

The Lady Night has come again 
And all the winds are still; 

I close my eyes, and lean my head 
Upon the window sill ; 

The sky is buttoned with the stars, 
The hills have hid the sun, 

And through the meadow, far away, 
I hear the river run; 

In daytime, when the sun is out 
And all the flowers are gay, 

I laugh and shout, and run about, 
And tumble in the hay; 

But when the Lady Night has come 
From lands behind the hill, 

She lays her finger on my lips 
And makes me very still. 


107 



THE MARCH OF THE SHADOWS 


From over western hill-tops, where the ruddy 
sun has dropped, 

There comes a line of shadows, marching down, 

They are clothed in softest gray, and they’re 
marching all the way, 

From the distant, purple hill-tops to the town. 

For their Shadow-King in silence leads them 
marching, marching on 

Across the meadow lands along the lane 

Where the glow-worm’s lamp is gleaming, and 
the poppy flower is dreaming 

And the summer wind is stealing through the 
grain. 

For the evening dew has fallen, and the evening 
mists are low, 

And every blossom wears a silver crown; 

While the winds are singing, sighing, and the day 
is paling, dying, 

They are marching, marching, marching to the 
town. 



108 



THE STAR-LIGHTER 

Come quickly, little sister-girl, the stars are being 
lit, 

The night from down the dusky hills is creeping, 
bit by bit, 

The baby moon is sailing; O, just come out and 
see, 

How the Nightman lights the pretty stars for 
little you and me! 

For he’s the fairy of the skies, and wears a robe 
of blue, 

He’s old as all the years there are, and yet as 
young as you, 

He has a magic torch to hold; it reaches up so 
far 

That, standing on the hill-top, he can light the 
farthest star. 


109 


And one by one they twinkle out, so very glad and 
bright 

We’re sure he must have touched them with his 
magic torch of light; 

Look up there, little sister-girl, beyond the hill, 
and see 

The big new one that’s glowing now, for little 
you and me! 

Oh, isn’t Nightman good to us, to light the stars 
o’ nights? 

He shows us every evening just the prettiest of 
sights ; 

For he’s the fairy of the skies — he wears a robe 
of blue — 

And old as all the years is he — yet just as young 
as you. 


110 



A BALLAD OF THREE 

We’re going to build a ship some day, 

Bobby, and baby, and I, 

A ship to carry us far away, 

Bobby, and baby and I; 

A swift white ship in which to ride 
With a sail of a cobweb, strong and wide, 

We’ll launch it away on the blue, blue tide, 
Bobby, and baby and I. 

We’ll all climb in, with our baby cat, 

Bobby, and baby, and I, 

The sun may be hot, but we won’t mind that, 
Bobby, and baby, and I; 

For we’ll sail away to a country fair 
And all that we want will be waiting there. 

It’s a long, long way, but we know where, 
Bobby, and baby, and I. 


Ill 


We’ll play all day, till the moon comes up, 
Bobby, and baby, and I; 

Then we’ll drink some cream from a silver cup, 
Bobby, and baby, and I; 

And we’ll go to sleep by a drooping tree 
That dips its arms in the sweet blue sea 
To fish up dreams for just us three, — 

Bobby, and baby, and I. 



112 


THE STAR-SHIPS 


Up on the waves of the great sea-sky 
Where the moon island dreamily floats 
Sailing about, with laughter and shout, 

Are thousands of gay little boats; 

And some are quite large, — they are nearer, you 
see, 

And some very faint and afar; 

Each little boat has a bright little sail 
And each little sail is a star. 

And “Come up and drift!” they are calling to me 
“The sea is blue and so wide”; 

And the little sails wink, and its pleasant to think 
That each longs to take me to ride; 

But sadly I say: “You are too far away”; 

And their light trembles down on my face ; 

So hailing the brightest, far upward I send 
My heart’s dearest wish in my place. 



THE YELLOW CITY LIGHTS 

Through the rain and mist they’re shining; O 
yellow city lights, 

How good you are to twinkle so on dark and 
windy nights! 

Through the puddles splash the horses, and below 
the window glass 

I can see the wet umbrellas of the people as they 
pass, 

O yellow city lights — O yellow city lights ! 

How brave you are to twinkle so on dark and 
rainy nights! 

For the wind is blowing, blowing, and the water 
comes in sheets 

Against the sides of houses, and all up and down 
the streets. 

You are friendlier than the stars I think, O lights 
in proud array, 

The stars are all magnificent, but cold and far 
away, 

And they never dare to twinkle, on dark and 
stormy nights, 

While you shine out as brave as brave, O yellow 
city lights! 


114 



THE PILOT WIND 

The wind is caught in the lilac bush 
It struggles a-while, in vain, 

And then, with one little wilful push, 

It comes fluttering out again 
It skips a-whispering up the path 
It slips within the door 
To rock the boat, that’s set afloat 
On the sea of the nursery floor. 

“Sleep little sailor,” it’s singing low, 

“I’ve come to rock your ship; 

I rock it away where the sleep waves play, 

And the soft, gray dream gulls dip; 

I’ll rock it away till you reach at last 

The shores of a strange blue land 

Then I’ll kiss your hair, and leave you there 

With the rudder in your hand.” 


115 


The wind is back in the lilac bush 
It lies there happy, quite, 

With the blossoms bent like a purple tent 
To hold it there, all night; 

‘Tve rocked the sailor away,” it says, 

“And he’ll not come back, I think, 

Till the stars grow white in the morning light 
And the dawn is brushed with pink.” 


116 



ROCKING SONG 

Sleepyheart and Openeyes were rocking in a 
chair — 

(Swing, little shadow, on the wall!) 

Openeyes was saying, “I shall wander in the moon, 

And toss a golden comet for a ball.” 

Sleepyheart was saying, “I shall not go out, I 
think, 

For all the stars in heaven are going winky- 
wink.” 


Sleepyheart and Openeyes were rocking in a 
chair — 

(Swing little shadow, to and fro!) 

Openeyes was saying, “For the night was made 
for play; 

I shall never go to bed again, I know.” 

Sleepyheart was saying, “I shall buy a little 
dream, 

And eat it just at cradle-time, with sugar, and 
with cream.” 


117 


The chair was rocking, rocking, and the room was 
very still — 

(Swing little shadow to the tune!) 

Openeyes was saying, “Through the window over 
there 

She is coming in to dance with us — the moon!” 

Sleepyheart was saying, “There’s a boat upon the 
sea; 

It’s sailing off to Whisperland, and coming in 
for me.” 

Sleepyheart was nodding now; Openeyes was 
still — 

(Swing, little shadow, very slow!) 

Out across the clover-tops the little wind had 
cried, 

“Away to Slumber Forest you shall go!” 

Birds and bees and butterflies had answered to 
the call; 

Quiet as a dreaming thing, the shadow on the 
wall. 


118 



THE LAUGHTER-MILL 

Joy was the chief of the laughter-mill; high on 
a sun-topped peak 

He had builded it up at the rainbow’s end, happily, 
week by week; 

And years and years and years had passed; and 
still the old mill stood 

Strong as a fort; and it worked away, singing the 
song of the good. 

Joy was the chief of the laughter-mill; in it 
worked Fun and Gay 

And Dimple-my-Chin and the Chuckle boys, turn- 
ing the wheels all day; 

And every night when the sun was low, and they 
turned away from the door, 

There were piles of laughs all ready to wear, in 
good neat rows on the floor. 


119 


Some of the laughs were the largest size, as large 
as a man might please, 

Some were the kind that were hard to use; there 
were not so many of these. 

Some were quite sober, and some were bright, and 
all were turned up at the ends, 

With an extra package of Gigglequicks, for young 
little girls and their friends. 

Joy made the styles in his laughter-mill; some of 
the smiles were sweet; 

Some were to wear in a happy home, and some 
were for use on the street; 

But Dimple-my-Chin and the Chuckle boys 
worked lovingest, best, I hear, 

On a soft little laugh that was stirred in a heart, 
and made of a precious tear. 


120 



LITTLE SISTER OF THE MOON 

Little sister of the moon lived upon a steep 
Where the road wound upward, to the hill of sleep ; 
There she slept, the daytimes, in a mossy cave 
Where nights the shadows gathered, and dancing 
lessons gave. 


At eight o’clock each night she woke: “It’s time to 
rise, I guess” ; 

She shook her tangled hair out, and donned a 
silver dress; 

She washed her hands in water, that ran as cold 
as snow, 

And packed a little basket, with the sweetest 
things that grow. 


And then she sang; “And now, away!” and flew 
up to the sky, 

The 'owl’s child saw her going, and blinked a 
sober eye; 


121 


The willow threw her kisses, and the breeze 
laughed, “I’m along,” 

And helped her bear the basket, and sang a 
sweetheart song. 

The moon, her patient sister, was waiting in the 
blue, 

How could she leave for supper, with so many 
things to do? 

She must keep the little stars awake, and put the 
breeze to sleep; 

And scare away the cloud-folk, who crowded 
round like sheep. 


So Little Sister comes to her; she flies before her 
face. 

She spreads her silver gown out, and bows a low 
“Your Grace!” 

With the dipper for a saucer, and a comet for a 
spoon, 

She mixes sweets with fire and dew, and feeds 
them to the moon. 


122 



THE SANDMAN’S WIFE 

The little brown sandman lives, you know, 

On the top of the hill where the poppies grow; 
The roof of his house is a great toadstool 
With a wee bell-tower, like the village school; 
And tumbling and heaping about the door 
Are piles of sand from the white seashore. 

The little brown sandman, bent and thin, 

Has a deep blue cloak that he wraps up in; 

His peaked hat has a star on top 

And he fastens his cloak with a green gumdrop; 

He’s always sleepy; a slow man he; 

And he stretches and yawns at half-past three. 

Now the greatest joy in the sandman’s life 
Is Polly M’ Pumpkin, the sandman’s wife; 

She’s a round little soul, with a rosy face, 

And she bustles and bounces about the place ; 

The children the sandman goes to see 
She loves a great deal more than he. 


123 



At seven o’clock, on every night, 

She lights his lamp with a fagot bright; 

Then Polly M’ Pumpkin wakes him up 
As he sits asleep, by his blue tea-cup; 

“The children are nodding now,” she cries, 

“Go sprinkle the sea-sand upon their eyes!” 

And she hands him a sack, when he blinks and 
starts, 

“For My Sleepiest Children” (ah, bless their 
hearts!) 

And quite unknown to the brown sandman 
She has mixed it up, as she only can, 

With magical sugar, as sweet as a rose, 

That brings good dreams wherever it goes. 

“Now hurry p,way!” she cries, and stands, 

On the flat door-stone, and waves her hands ; 

The little brown sandman slips away 
Till he’s lost in the stars of the milky way; 

“He’d never get started in all his life, 

If it wasn’t for me,” says the sandman’s wife. 


124 


Then she climbs the bell-tower, up on the house, 
And she peers about, like a bright-eyed mouse; 
And she says to herself, as she always does, 

“I’ll let him sleep some night, because 
I'm going to go, in my husband’s place,” 

And a mischievous smile lights up her face. 


125 



DREAMS FOR THREE 


Three little dreams flew in from the south 
And they flew in a swift straight line 
And one was a dream of peaches and cream 
And that little dream was mine; 

I dreamed that a pretty white cloth was spread 
With the round moon set for a dish 
And I ate in state of peaches and cream 
As much as my heart could wish. 

The next little dream was a funny one; 

It came to Molly O’Lear; 

She thought that she rode on a great green goose 
That bucked like a Texas steer; 

It flopped about, till it knocked her off, 

And it cackled “Gingerbread Joke;” 

And Molly wondered what that could be, 

And while she was wondering, woke. 

The last little dream was the best of all. 

It flew to Elizabeth Lee 

She swung in a hammock, embroidered with 
snails, 

Way up to the top of a tree; 

And there she found,, all cuddled away, 

In a sort of a cottony nest, 

The Little Lost Princess of Shut-Eye town; — 

No wonder her dream was best. 

126 



Mother’s face by candlelight 
Stars aglow, without, 

Just my little room at night 
Shadows all about; 

Other places 
Other faces 
Never half so dear; 

Lady mother, stay with me, 

Very, very near. 

Mother’s hands to hold mine fast 
Candle burning, low, 

Wind across the gable roofs 
Singing sad and slow; 

Other hands 
In other lands 
Never were so good; 

I would hold them always here 
If I only could. 

Stay with me, dear lady mother 
Sing me off to sleep; 

Sing of stars and candlelight, 

Love so deep, so deep. 

127 





THE ROAD TO GLAD TOMORROW 

Across the hills it winds away 
Between the fields of clover 
The road that leads from Glad Today; 
See, little child, look over; 

It leaves behind your Wonder-World 
Without a sigh or sorrow; 

Child, beneath the apple bough 

For your dear sake I name it now — , 

The Road to Glad Tomorrow. 



H 70 86 


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